


Brittany & LT

by ehefic



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehefic/pseuds/ehefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reinterpretation of Calvin & Hobbes, with Britt as Calvin, Santana as Susie, and the honorable Lord Tubbington as Hobbes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"There's a new girl in my class," Brittany says while she tosses her jump rope lasso at the tree again.

LT lounges in the wagon, inspecting his claws. "So?"

The loop misses the nubby branch and Brittany reels it back, undeterred, to try again. "Her name's Santana."

"Who cares?" LT grumbles with a warning edge to his voice.

Brittany shrugs mildly and aims her grin up at the branch as her toss circles it perfectly, like the ring toss game she totally rocked during Field Day last spring. "She's super nice," she adds, testing the rope with cautious tugs and artfully ignoring the way Santana spent her whole first day snarling at Rachel during class and threatening to beat up Puck during recess.

"What the heck, who cares!" bursts LT. The wagon clanks when he sits up sharply.

Brittany starts scaling the rope, yanking as hard as she can with her arms and twisting her legs as tight around as she can. "I care," she grits while she bites her tongue to focus.

In the corner of her eye, she sees LT eyeing her suspiciously. She struggles another inch up the rope, disappointed to find it's significantly more challenging than it looked in  _Indiana Jones_. "Do you like her or something?" LT asks finally, scowling like he does when she tries to pawn her vegetables off on him.

"No," Brittany pouts, willing her grip to hold just a little longer so she can clamp the soles of her sandals against the bottom of the rope. Maybe she should've tied knots in it, like the gym teacher does for the big kids who do climbing in class.

"Oh my god, you  _like_ her?" wails LT. He's leaning over the edge of the wagon now, more incredulous than annoyed.

Brittany wrinkles her nose and the distraction is just enough to land her on her butt in the not-quite-soft grass. She winces, rubbing her tailbone in pain, and whines, "Do  _not_."

"Well, good," LT sniffs. He settles back into her wagon with his arms folded.

She sticks her tongue out at him. "I was just saying."

The breeze picks back up, and the jump rope sways. LT glances it, raises an eyebrow, and says, "Whatever. You suck at climbing trees."

"I don't have any claws," she whines.

"Reason number fifty why cats are superior," LT says sagely, closing his eyes and nodding like he's Obi-Wan or something.

Brittany leans on the dirt and gets to her feet. "Maybe cats are just cheating."

LT gives her his Cheshire cat grin. "Somebody's jealous."

"If you're so awesome at climbing, why don't you help me?" she asks.

His face pinches and he regards the tree with some reluctance. "I hardly think that's appropriate," he huffs, retracting his claws protectively.

Brittany sticks her tongue out at him and goads, "I knew you couldn't do it. You suck way worse than I do."

"I can too climb trees," blusters LT, preening and sitting upright.

"Well prove it." Brittany blows another raspberry at him.

This gives him pause, and he flicks his tail like Bagheera while he considers the tree bark warily. "I don't see why I have to prove anything to you," he disdains, even as he lopes over the wagon's edge and sidles up to the tree. He looks up at it and the wind blows Brittany's jump rope into his back.

The touch makes him jump into a kung-fu pose and bare his teeth, and Brittany laughs so hard she doubles over. LT recovers and his face falls. "Stop that, it's hardly dignified," LT complains. He'd probably be blushing if his whiskers weren't in the way.

"Stop stalling," Brittany teases.

LT sets his jaw, digs his claws deep into the tree bark, and hops upward.

His soft back paws slide helplessly down the tree's side, and Brittany falls over laughing in the grass.

"Oh, shut up," LT bristles.

Brittany just laughs harder.

* * *

After the last fold looks crisp and neat, Brittany carefully pops shape into the hat and grins when it comes out perfect. "Ta-da!" she yells, spinning to face LT where he's reading a comic book in the opposite corner with an ankle against his knee.

"Ta-da what?" he asks without looking up.

"Ta- _duh_ , your hat," she chides and bounces over to him. When he doesn't look up at her, she sighs dramatically and instructs, "Up, up, up," holding the hat carefully behind her back.

LT groans and makes a production out of closing the comic book and setting it aside. "Jeez, you're like my dad," Brittany criticizes with a wrinkled nose, while LT takes five million years to get to his feet.

"Hardly," LT bristles, folding his arms.

It's obvious he's about to make another speech about how awesome cats are, so Brittany cuts him off and waves: "Get down on one knee."

He recoils. "Ew, are you making me propose? You have cooties!"

"Ew, why would I marry you?" yells Brittany, waving more emphatically. "Just get on your knees. I can't reach your head from here."

"What do you want with my head?" He glares at her suspiciously but does like she asks.

Brittany clears her throat in an important way and braces her free hand solemnly over her heart. "Lord Thomas Hobbes Tubbington, I hereby declare you the chief lieutenant of my newly-chartered club, D.O.T.S."

Unimpressed, LT hesitantly sneers, "What's that stand for?"

"Dance Or eaT Sugar."

"That's D-O-E-S," says LT pretentiously. "And why am I a lieutenant? I should definitely be overlord. It's in my name!"

Brittany glares. "You know, it's really an honor to be part of my club," she warns.

She lets him look at her for a moment to decide if she's bluffing. He makes the right decision and asks, "Who else is gonna be in it?"

Brittany shrugs. "Just us, for now. Now bend down so I can reach."

"Wait a second," he says, holding up his paw and frowning at her. "You're not gonna invite that slimy girl you like, are you?"

Brittany pulls a face and gasps, insulted, "Ew, I don't  _like_ Rachel! She's totally gross!"

"No, not her." LT tries to snap his fingers to remember the name, but his fuzzy paws don't make the right noise. "The other one. The one you like."

"I don't  _like_  anybody," Brittany insists angrily. "Now bend down so I can put your hat on before I demote you!"

"Promise," LT pushes. "No girls."

Brittany huffs. " _I'm_ a girl."

"No other girls."

"Oh my gosh, fine!" Brittany reaches menacingly for LT's ears and he bends over in panic. "Now," she narrates, resuming her Regal Voice as she raises the newspaper hat over LT's head, "I hereby dub thee, Lord Thomas Hobbes Tubbington, chief lieutenant of D.O.T.S.!" She plants the hat squarely over his ears and he rises to his feet, eyes shut serenely and paw pressing delicately over his chest.

"It's an honor to be here with all of you today," he proclaims to an imaginary audience. Brittany giggles, pleased. "I've worked long and hard to get here, building my skills and reputation, and it's just—" He breaks from military character into Miss United States and brushes invisible tears. "I just can't believe I finally made it," he weeps with a high, cracking voice, fanning himself as he squeals, "they like me, they really like me!"

Brittany laughs so hard she can't move fast enough to catch her own hat when the breeze picks up, and she has to climb all the way down the treehouse ladder and chase it around the house and down the street.

When she sees Santana staring at her with a little smile, sitting across the street and petting the stuffed unicorn in her lap, Brittany chokes down a blush and yells, "What're you lookin' at?"

Santana shrugs and returns to her play tea set, and Brittany stomps back to the treehouse with her newspaper hat unwrapping in her fists.

* * *

Under 9 + 4, Brittany diligently recounts what LT taught her: 9 stands for mimes, which always copy whatever's near them, so the problem is really two 4s, which is the kind of handgun Dirty Harry uses. She's writing "Clint Eastwood" in careful print when she feels a prick at the back of her neck and turns around to see Santana staring at her.

"What?" she whispers uneasily.

Santana keeps looking at her a moment longer, and just when Brittany fidgets in her seat, Santana whispers back, "I can't see around your hat."

Since she already had to argue with Mr. Schuester for five minutes to get him to let her wear it, she doesn't want to relinquish it that easily. "I have to wear it," she whispers. "Presidents have to wear hats."

"The President doesn't wear a hat," Santana answers with a frown.

With a little, secret smile, Brittany whispers, "That's 'cause his club's not as cool as mine."

Santana's dark eyes light up. "You have a club?"

Brittany shushes her. "I have to wear it."

"I can't see, though," Santana protests, pouting.

It makes Brittany uncomfortable. She sullenly pulls the newspaper hat off her head and sets it reverently on her desk beside her totally A+ math worksheet.

After she's done the next problem, though, she still feels that prick along the back of her neck. She turns her head in super slow motion and catches Santana looking at her head.

"What, you want me to take my head off now?" Brittany asks, more uncomfortable than angry.

Santana just shrugs, glancing between Brittany's eyes and her light hair with a weird shimmer in her eyes. "No."

"Girls," Mr. Schuester says, and Brittany looks up to see he's standing right beside them with his arms crossed. She cowers a little, but right when he's opening his mouth to scold them, the recess bell rings.

When she stands up, Santana's giving her this weird smile, so Brittany bolts.

* * *

At her front door, as usual, Brittany calls "I'm home!" before she remembers. LT tackles her out onto the stoop and her books go flying while he nuzzles her neck with a proud purr.

"Gotcha," he gloats, grinning that Cheshire grin.

"I totally let you have that one," Brittany whines, shimmying out from under him. "I just don't want you to feel bad after you're bored all day."

LT sits up in his slinky panther way and examines his claws again. "Who says I was bored? I don't need you to entertain me."

Brittany folds her arms and calls his bluff: "Oh yeah? What'd ya do, then?"

"I read," he says, defensive and vague.

"Read what?"

LT mumbles and Brittany grins. She's got him. "Wanna speak up? Mumbling's not ladylike," she parrots.

"Comics," he sighs.

"Ha!"

As she ambles inside with her crumpled papers, she adds, "You better not have bent the pages."

"Hardly," LT demurs, licking his paw as he follows her to her room. " _Catwoman_  is disgraceful, by the way."

Brittany grins toothily. "I know. I have to sneak it in 'cause Mom doesn't want me buying it."

"No, I mean—" LT heaves his long-suffering, explanatory sigh. "She doesn't deserve the moniker.  _You_  would make a better cat than her."

It reminds Brittany of the idea she had during reading discussion this afternoon, and she gets excited as she turns to LT and bubbles, "That reminds me! Guess what I thought of?"

LT raises an eyebrow and coils up in the patch of sun on her bed. "What?"

She claps her hands together and skitters over. She crawls onto the bed and kneels in front of him, grinning eagerly. "A transmogrifier!"

Despite himself, LT's ears twitch with interest, and he looks at her curiously. He perks up as he asks, sincerely, "What's that?"

"Duh, it transmogrifies stuff!" Brittany explains, rolling her eyes as she backs away and skips over to her closet.

LT sits up on the bed while Brittany dives into the pile on her closet floor. "Yes, but what does that mean?" He's too curious to snap at her, which doesn't happen that often.

Brittany reappears, wielding a Brittany-sized cardboard box, and sets it upside-down with lip-biting precision. "It turns you into something else," she says as she runs to her desk to scavenge a fat black Sharpie.

"Like what?" asks LT, sitting at the edge of the bed.

"Anything!" she says, offended he's asking such dumb questions when there are way better ones to ask. She scribbles busily on the side of the box until curiosity brings LT over beside her.

"A cat?" he asks, excited.

Brittany nods enthusiastically. "Or anything else," she says, touching her lip with the marker thoughtfully before offering it to LT. "I left space," she adds, pointing at the expanse of blank cardboard. "Just leave space for the dial."

"What dial?" He watches her run back to her desk and pull out construction paper and scissors.

Two minutes later, she's fixing a nice purple arrow to the side of the box and aiming it at "Cat". She takes the marker back and draws a big black button while LT looks on.

"Okay." Brittany gives the Sharpie back to him and lifts the side of the box. "Once I'm inside, just push the button and I'll transmogrify."

LT smiles a bit at her, even as he teases, "What if you're no good at being a cat?"

Brittany rolls her eyes while she crawls underneath on all fours. "Don't be stupid," she says as darkness surrounds her; "I'm totally gonna be an awesome cat. Maybe even better than you. Maybe prettier."

"Yeah, yeah," LT says, voice muffled by the cardboard. "You ready?"

"Aye, Lieutenant," she chirps, saluting to the dark interior of the transmogrifier. She hears his finger against the button and shuts her eyes as a zap of electricity jolts through her.

LT waits a while before he asks, tentative, "You okay in there, Brittany?"

She's nuzzling her arm when she answers, "How can you be this soft all the time? I just wanna sit here and pet me."

The box lifts and a sliver of light pools around her knees. LT chuckles as she squirms out under the edge of the box. "That's what you humans are for," he says lightly. "Why do the work ourselves?"

"How do I look?" Brittany asks instead of answering. She's looking at the light fur down her arms and her soft white paws. She lopes over to the mirror and LT trails her.

He shrugs, brows raised, almost impressed. "You look pretty good, actually," he admits.

Brittany grins. "Am I as pretty as Charity?"

"Shut up," LT hisses. Brittany just laughs.

* * *

She wastes a little while leaping from her desk to her bed to her windowsill until her mother comes in and yells at her to quiet down. "How do I look, Mom?" she asks, holding her arms out proudly and flicking her tail with unpracticed clumsiness.

"Um, great, sweetie," her mom says, clearly confused. She probably just doesn't know how to handle the news. Brittany's about to console her when her mom says, "Just keep it down, okay? And stop jumping on your bed."

Brittany shrugs while LT lurks in the corner. He doesn't like her mom much. "I'm gonna go play outside anyway," she says. Her mom nods and lets her through the doorway.

LT lets her lead the way until she stops at the end of the driveway and ducks behind the bushes. "What is it?" asks LT quietly, like they're playing Secret Agents again.

"Nothing," dodges Brittany, biting her lip and fidgeting. She peers over the edge of the bush, but sure enough, Santana's drawing hopscotch on her driveway in big colored chalk, in plain view of the route Brittany wanted to take to the park.

Unfortunately, she's given herself away, and LT takes one look over the leaves before he's swatting her upside the head and scolding, "The girl again? You promised!"

"I didn't do anything!" she whispers back. "How'd I know she'd be here, anyway?"

LT shakes his head. "You must've seen her; you're not blind," he snaps.

"Relax, it's not like I'm going to talk to her," Brittany hisses.

"Talk to who?"

Brittany jumps about a foot in the air and whirls to see Santana right behind her. Santana's looking at her quizzically, that off-white unicorn tucked under her arm and her dark hair threaded in a pretty braid with a blue string weaved through it.

It takes a second of staring for Brittany to remember the question. "I—uh—n-nobody, talk to nobody," Brittany stammers.

Santana stays stock-still. "Then who were you talking to?" She sounds amused.

Brittany pouts. "LT," she sniffs, crossing her arms and flicking her tail.

"Who's that?" asks Santana, even as she glances at LT like she's pretty sure she knows.

"Lord Tubbington," Brittany says more ceremoniously, gesturing to him and adding, "meet Santana."

LT snarls at her and snaps his teeth, but Santana just eyes him, unfazed, before turning back to Brittany. She smiles—wide enough that Brittany sees one of her front teeth is missing—and holds the unicorn out. "This is Snix," she says.

Brittany stares, stunned, at the glass rainbow eyes shoved in her face. "Um, hi."

"And I'm Santana."

"I know that," says Brittany, bristling and a little annoyed Santana still hasn't commented on how completely awesome she looks as a kitty cat.

Santana looks at LT again and then at the bushes. "What're you playing?"

Brittany gets defensive immediately because LT still looks peeved, and Secret Agents is a D.O.T.S. game which means Santana can't play. "Nothing. Just. Um. Walking around."

"Really?"

She sounds so disappointed—her face looks so crestfallen—that Brittany falters and fiddles with her paw. "Well—I really just wanna see what it's like to be a cat all day."

Santana's expression lights up instantly. "You're being cats? Can I play?"

LT's shaking his head, but Santana's eyes look really really pretty when they glitter like this, and Brittany's saying yes before she's even thinking it.

It turns out Santana makes a pretty good cat, but Snix sucks at it because she's a dumb stuffed animal, and LT spends the whole afternoon sulking in the sun instead of playing with them.

* * *

Of course, too soon after, while LT's still mad at her, her parents go out on Friday night and leave her with Fink Hudson, who is the worst babysitter in the history of ever and also has no idea that she hates him.

LT seems determined that tonight is the night to make him find out, and that instead of helping her pull some legendary pranks on Fink, he's gonna do it all himself and pin it on her like a weasel.

While Fink makes them mac 'n cheese for dinner, Brittany realizes that LT's not reading in the corner anymore, and she leaves the TV to find him. It turns out he opened the window and snuck outside to turn the radio dials all the way up in Finn's car, put a Whoopee cushion on the driver's seat, and spray shaving cream all over his windshield. All of it's hilarious, but it takes her too long to get LT to stop and go inside, and Fink catches her with the shaving cream because LT pushes it into her hand right as the front door opens.

Fink grounds her for the rest of the night while he cleans up his car, and when LT shows up in her room fifteen minutes later, she yells at him and then begs him to tell her what else he's rigged.

Then Fink pounds on the front door.

By the time her parents get home, Fink's put up with enough of LT's genius to talk her parents into a thirty dollar bonus, and she's been grounded until the end of the century.

She whines about it in morning recess—not to anyone in particular; mostly to herself—and Santana overhears her.

The next night, the first real night of her month of being grounded, Santana throws a pebble at her upstairs window.


	2. Chapter 2

Brittany actually just assumes the noise is LT, because while she's been cutting the edges off the purple blanket from the living room to make a cape, he's been messing around with her marble maze tower in a constant staccato of  _plink_ s.

"There's somebody at your window," LT says, and she looks over to see his nose pressed curiously against the window glass.

"What ho? A foe?" Brittany bobs and weaves over while she ties the ends of the blanket around her neck. She pulls her tie-dye bandana low over her eyebrows and squishes her nose against the window next to LT.

In the dim yellow porch light, she makes out a silhouette. A little one. "Could it possibly be Awesome Girl's arch-nemesis, Annoying Girl?"

But, when she squints, she realizes it's not Rachel at all. "Santana!" she says, struggling to lift the window.

Turns out LT's leaning on its top ridge, holding it down with his weight. "It  _is_ Annoying Girl," he growls, and she's not sure if he's kidding or serious or both. Probably both.

"No it's not," she whines, swatting at his big stupid arms. He wheels back from the window with this martyred sigh and she heaves again.

When the window still doesn't budge, she eyes it suspiciously. "It must have been cursed by the evil Mom Lady," she narrates in her lowest, most ominous voice. "C'mon, Captain Kitty, you gotta give me a hand!"

LT is affronted. "Captain Kitty? What kind of name is that?"

"What _ever_ ," Brittany says, "just help me!"

Between the two of them, they yank the window open enough for Brittany to wedge her head through, if she turns sideways. "Hi Santana!" she yells down.

Santana waves and gives her a funny smile. "Hi Brittany!"

"I'm not Brittany," Brittany protests. "I'm Awesome Girl."

"Oh," Santana says, taking a moment to think. "Well, come down and play with me!"

With a hesitant glance at LT, Brittany turns back and says, "What do you wanna play?"

"You're grounded," LT reminds her, crossing his arms like Mom Lady.

Brittany rolls her eyes and ignores him while Santana says, "I dunno, who cares? Come down!"

"Can we play Brittanyball?" asks Brittany.

"Absolutely not!" yells LT with his fur sticking up. "That's our game, Brittany!"

"What is that?" Santana's asking.

In her adult voice, Brittany sniffs, "I can't tell you."

Santana crosses her arms and says, "Then how can we play?"

Brittany's about to explain that, duh, not knowing how to play  _is_ how you play, but she gets cut off by someone calling, "Santana! What are you doing?"

Mom Lady must have a sidekick now, because this lady has the same hairstyle even though hers is black, and she's wearing the same black shoes and she's an adult and therefore most probably evil. "You can't just run outside like this! It's after dark!" she's scolding Santana, crouched beside her under Brittany's window.

"Quick, turn off the lights," Brittany whispers to LT, peering through the corner of the window because she's eavesdropping.

"I know, I'm sorry," she hears Santana say while LT turns the lights off. Then, suddenly, Santana's mom stands up and takes Santana's hand, and they're walking across Brittany's yard toward the side of the house. Santana looks up sadly and waves; Brittany waves back.

The room lights up again, and Brittany turns to see LT looking pouty. "You can't play Brittanyball with her," he complains. "That's our thing."

Guilty but disappointed, Brittany mumbles, "Brittanyball isn't D.O.T.S. business. I can ask her to play."

"She's just a dumb girl," LT says, wounded. "She'd probably mess it up."

"She's not dumb," Brittany says and pushes the bandana up away from her eyes. "Clown Teacher always has her do problems on the board."

LT rolls his eyes. "School isn't like Brittanyball," he points out in his  _duh_ voice. "Brittanyball is way cooler and she'd totally mess it up."

"Well," Brittany thinks aloud, "if she messes it up, I'll make her go away."

The hurt drains from LT's face, and he hops onto her bed with an apathetic shrug. "Doesn't matter, 'cause she's probably grounded, now, too."

"Getting grounded doesn't mean anything," Brittany points out in her  _duh_ voice. "I go outside all the time when I'm grounded."

"Yeah, but she's a goody-two-shoes," LT says wisely. "Goody-two-shoes-es always listen to their parents."

Feeling strangely insulted, Brittany shoots back, "You don't know she's a goody-two-shoes."

LT raises his paw and says, "If your teacher likes her, she's obviously a goody-two-shoes."

It's hard to argue with that. Brittany sulks. "I never said he liked her."

"Teachers always have kids they like do problems on the board."

"How do you know that?" Brittany's exasperated. "You never went to school."

LT shrugs mildly. "Instinct. Cats are born knowing this stuff."

Brittany considers him while she tugs at the cape where it chokes her. "Whoa."

"Yeah." LT preens happily. "It's pretty awesome."

* * *

At lunch, Santana climbs in next to her on the bench while Brittany's dumping out a Tupperware box and an apple onto the table next to her 2% milk.

"Whatcha got?" asks Santana, so cheerful it makes her uneasy.

Snapping open the Tupperware lid reveals cold leftover lasagna. Brittany wrinkles her nose and groans, "Monkey guts  _again_?"

Santana shifts on her seat and her expression clouds over. "Those aren't monkey guts," she says tentatively, peering over Brittany's shoulder at the container. "Looks like lasagna."

"Shows what you know," Brittany says, digging her fork deep into the cheese and pulling up into the air so sticky threads stretch in the air. "See? Totally guts." Santana looks pretty close to wigging out, so Brittany turns her hand to show Santana the pasta chunk stuck to her fork and whispers, "This is probably the last thing he ate."

"Gross!" whines Santana. Her head whips around, but Mr. Schuester's nowhere in sight.

Brittany shoves a forkful into her mouth and chews. "It's okay," she says happily, "They're totally good for you and stuff."

"That's totally lasagna," Santana insists, still skeptical from where she's leaned away from Brittany as far as possible.

"Monkey guts," Brittany reiterates, chomping noisily. She looks over at Santana's lunch and eyes the sandwich with exaggerated distrust. "That's probably the monkey's brains."

With a loud gasp, Santana recoils, then creeps back toward her sandwich cautiously. She peels the bread apart and eyes the dark red jelly. "You think?" she whispers, but her eyes are glittery again when she looks over at Brittany.

"Um, yeah," Brittany answers; her voice falters and she's not sure why.

The fear dissolves from Santana's face while she picks the sandwich up and takes a big bite. "I bet it'll make me even smarter," she says.

"No!" yells Brittany instinctively, but she can't think of a reason, and Santana just grins at her smugly, so Brittany takes another monster bite of her stupid lasagna and shuts up.

It doesn't last, though, and it only takes a minute before Santana's asking, "So what's Brittanyball?"

"It's a secret," Brittany says while she forces her milk carton open. She notes with frustration that Santana's is opened in a crisp rhombus, while hers has a mouth like a crater.

When she glances over again to compare, she startles to see Santana sitting right up next to her. "I can keep a secret," Santana whispers reverently, dark eyes all shiny again.

Brittany jerks away and goes back to wolfing down the cold lasagna. It's clammy and pasty, and Brittany reminds herself that the meat from the giant crabs she killed on the shore is the most nutritious thing she's found on the island, and she has to choke it down. Spacegirl Spice needs her energy if she's going to investigate the caves under the volcano after lunch.

"You can tell me," Santana says, yanking Brittany back to the lunch table.

She scowls at the interruption. "Maybe I don't wanna tell you," she snaps, pouting into her milk.

Santana huffs and a frown finally settles on her face. "You don't have to be a jerk!" she says, shoving her lunch back into her bag and stomping away from the table.

Brittany keeps pouting at her space crab meat, and she can't help but feel like she's left something important behind.

* * *

Spacegirl Spice is exploring the alien caves when the resident Momzork ruins it. She's about to go all Lewis and Clark and get a sketchpad to note the odd, lamp-like shape of the stalagmites when the Momzork garbles something loud that rings against the walls.

She ambles through the rooms, examining the furniture where it rests on the ceiling above her head, and she realizes with a jolt of adrenaline and fear that her speed warp through the mountain must have inverted her galactic polarity, leaving her rooted to the ceiling!

Trusty Spacecat Spack looks down at her from above with his hands on his hips and she hisses, "Help me down!"

"I thought you didn't need any help," he says, pouty and hurt.

"I told you, it's not safe in the caves, and I only have one blaster," Spice repeats for the gazillionth time, rolling her eyes. "Now help me down before the aliens come back."

It takes a little wheedling, but Spack finally reaches his long arms up and pulls her back down. "I thought I'd finally fixed that," Spice huffs conversationally while they creep through the cavern toward the voice.

Spack agrees, "I  _did_ think replacing the magnets would make a difference. I guess we miscalculated the gravitronomics."

"Brittany! I said come to dinner!" Momzork roars. Spice presses back against the wall, turns her blaster up to Medium Well, and hurries up, pulling Spack along behind her.

When she makes it to the table, approaching the interrogation hot seat and climbing onto it, Momzork chastises, "Took you long enough. I told you ten minutes ago. Did you remember to wash your hands?"

What do the aliens want with her hands? "Yes," Spice lies sullenly, surveying the gross green lumpiness on her plate. She hopes it's covering up something edible, like pepperoni pizza, because there's no way her stomach can process alien food like this.

Momzork isn't buying it, but the tall, willow Grakdad decides to try his hand at Bad Cop and says, "Let's see your hands, young lady."

Spice sets her jaw, tucks her blaster between her legs, and holds her hands up for a short flash. Momzork's tentacle grabs her by the wrist and examines the dirty creases of her palms. "Brittany!"

No way she's putting up with that, and she sticks her tongue out at the Momzork in a show of defiance. Before she knows it, the Grakdad's extricated himself from the chair and he's dragging her into a room full of chrome appliances. It must be the torture chamber, and Spice analyzes the escape routes while the Grakdad pushes her onto a stool and over the edge of a sink. He scrubs her hands under the water and Spice feels the protective Earth oils slide off down the drain, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to the toxic air molecules of Zartron-9.

Of course, she follows her training and keeps her panic and protests to herself. She allows the Grakdad to lead her back to the detention chamber, and she settles back on the platform in front of the green parasite poorly disguised as food.

"How was school?" Momzork asks with her hardest voice.

Spice shrugs and her eyes alight on a miniaturized but sharp pronged bayonet. Her captors ignore the way she wields it ominously over the green bio-agent. She prods the glop cautiously with her weapon and the way it moves suggests enough sentience to be dangerous. "Eeugh," she says under her breath as her eyes go wide.

"Now what?" asks the Momzork. Spice flinches at her stupidity.

"It wiggled," she deflects, keeping her gaze pinned on the "food" suspiciously and her blade poised to strike.

Zounds! Momzork isn't buying it. And an experimental poke to test the consistency tells Spice that there's definitely no pepperoni pizza underneath waiting to redeem this culinary disaster. At least her kidnappers on Zog had the decency to pretend they were feeding her something edible.

"Brittany, don't be silly. Your food did not  _wiggle_."

It wobbles again, as if to mock her. Spice snarls at the provocation and mashes it down with her fork violently.

"Brittany!" Grakdad shouts, louder than she expected. It shocks her into freezing and looking up. "Stop playing with your food and eat the nice dinner your mother made!"

They think they've won when Spice sinks into a silent glare and shovels the food onto the violent utensil they've provided. Spack, however, is coiled under the table right by her feet, and everybody knows Spacecat stomachs can handle  _anything_.

* * *

It's not that she means to end up next to Santana again, but it's the only open spot, and her lunch bag has turned into a kid-munching monster with locomotive power, so she leaps in under the table next to Santana's feet.

"Brittany, what the heck?" says Santana loudly, chomping on her usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Brittany shushes her, swatting her shins, and hisses, "Don't talk so loud! It'll know I'm here!"

There's a pause where Brittany just hears her classmates' chatter in the background—and she notices the awesome Hamster Huey Band-Aids stretched over Santana's knee—and then Santana whispers surreptitiously, "What're you hiding from?"

"My mom sent an evil spy device instead of my lunch," she whispers back. "It's trying to eat my arm off and then self-destruct! I need to get to the armory so I can fight it off."

After another moment, where Santana swings her legs while she thinks and almost decks Brittany in the nose, and Santana ducks down again to say, "Would a thermos work?"

"Yeah!" says Brittany eagerly. She swipes it when Santana holds it out and sprints back to her table.

By the time she's beaten the lunch decoy into a purple jelly pulp, Santana's come up behind her to stare.

"Here's your thermos," Brittany says, handing it back and proudly displaying her kill. "Look, it's bleeding jelly!"

Santana wrinkles her nose. "Gross," she says, but she keeps staring at it, weirdly curious.

It makes Brittany kind of uncomfortable, so she says thanks one more time and scurries outside for recess.

* * *

"Nuh-uh! You just entered the green zone!"

LT squeaks, insulted. "What's the green zone?" he demands, clutching the volleyball protectively and adjusting his eye mask.

"If you're not wearing green, you can't leave!" Brittany yells, circling in on him.

"Well, the green zone is  _surrounded_ by the naked zone, so you can't come get me!" he says and sticks his tongue out.

He's just mad because he doesn't wear clothes, so he can't wear green. But he's miscalculated gravely; Brittany shrugs and pulls her shirt off.

LT backs into the corner of the green zone while Brittany kicks her shoes off, and she's got her pants down to her ankles when her mom comes running outside, yelling.

She tries to explain, but her mom never understands the rules in Brittanyball, and she definitely never understands naked rules.

It gets her stuck in her room until dinner.

Again.

* * *

Way later, Brittany thinks she hears a pebble against her window again, but right when she goes to check, her mom storms in and drags her to take her bath.

Her mom keeps watch while she cleans—because last time she flooded the bathroom floor during her aquatic reinterpretation of "Singin' in the Rain"—and glares mildly from where she sits on the closed toilet seat. Brittany mostly ignores her and submerges half her face in the weak bubbles, blowing a slew of her own and burbling, "Mayday on the SS Raptor, send help."

Brittany mimics a radio noise—" _Krr-chk_ "—and makes the second voice nasally: "Coast guard, Raptor, what's the sitch?"

"Sea's unnaturally choppy," she replies as the Raptor while she waves her hands underneath the toy boat. The waves make it rock ominously. "Suspect subaquatic unrest. Request backup and investigation."

In the corner, her mom checks her watch, but Brittany ignores her while her arms turn into giant kraken tentacles. "Sounds fishy, Raptor. What are you— _Eeee!_ " Brittany shrieks for the passengers as she sloshes water over their deck.

"I'm drowning! I'm— _glurg_ ," Brittany wails, blowing more bubbles and thrashing the boat about in the water.

"Don't slosh water out of the tub," her mom scolds.

With a sulky glare, Brittany restrains her movements a little and goes back to shrieking for the boat passengers. "Coast guard, can you hear me? It's—oh God, it's—Nooo!" She flops her arm over the top of the boat and drags it down under the water, flopping forward so she's hugging it to her chest against the tub bottom.

It only takes half a second for her mom to pull her upright. Brittany pouts. "I wanted to hold my breath," she whines.

"I think you've been in there long enough," her mom says tiredly, ignoring her complaints and dragging her onto the bath mat. She helps a resistant Brittany towel off and leans over to unplug the tub.

Brittany looks at her fingertips while her mom tucks the toy boat onto the shelf. "Look," she says, holding her palms up to her mom and curling them into velociraptor claws. Her voice drops to a growl: "I'm a prune monster! Rarr!"

"Come on, sweetie," her mom says, totally ignoring her crazy awesome prunosaur transformation and dressing her in her pajamas. She takes Brittany's claw, unfazed, and leads her to her room.

Once the lights are out, though, and she's snuggled against LT while her mom clicks the door shut, the raptor claws come in handy.

"Come down, we've got candy!" gurgles one of the monsters under her bed.

LT's fur sticks up and his claws come out, but Brittany leans confidently over the edge of the bed and snarls, "We've got a saber-tooth tiger  _and_ a prunosaurus Rex up here, so you better stay under there if you know what's good for you!"

There's quiet murmuring, and then the voice mutters, "Fine, don't eat the candy. See if we care."

Brittany snuggles into LT's warm fuzzy belly and doesn't notice the pebble that slipped inside the open window.


	3. Chapter 3

Brittany's just climbed out of the Time Machine from another one of Spacegirl Spice's intrepid adventures to Zog-9 when LT prowls over from the pile of comic books and peers at the box. He's stroking his soft chin like he's got an idea, so Brittany prompts, "What is it, Lord T?"

Instead of answering, he reaches out to touch the box's flaps curiously. It's upright now—not the Transmogrifier—and she's about to ask if he wants to go see the dinosaurs again when he tips it onto its side.

Brittany's eyes go wide. "What's it do?" she asks eagerly, retrieving the big black Sharpie from her desk drawer.

"Lemme see," he says, grabbing the marker when she hands it to him. He bends to the box like a mechanic and when he stands up, he points proudly to "DUPLICATOR," spelled in careful capital letters.

With a squeal, Brittany says, "I can clone myself?"

"So can I!" he says, insistent.

"Of course," she says. "D.O.T.S. has a mission!"

LT grins at her; his tail curls happily. "What's the mission?" he asks, scurrying across the room to grab their newspaper caps.

"No, leave those off," she says. "That way we can tell the clones from the originals. We'll put the hats on after."

"Perfect," LT purrs, setting them carefully on top of the box. "But what's the mission?"

Brittany shrugs as she climbs between the box flaps. "Drive Fink Hudson crazy, obviously."

After all, it turns out Fink Hudson is back to babysit her, and with eight Brittanys and four LTs, Fink is nowhere near prepared.

First, Brittany has the LT team follow Fink around the house, turning all the furniture upside down as soon as he leaves a room. He figures it out pretty quickly, though, and he keeps staring at the living room while he makes a sandwich in the kitchen.

So, then, Brittany finds his bag and starts passing its contents amongst herselves. "What are these?" asks Brittany 5, wandering into the living room, and Fink shouts and barrels at her to snatch the box of condiments from her hands.

Brittany 5 skips away while Fink blushes and hides the box. "We're only looking," Brittany 3 scolds him seriously, taking Brittany 5's place in front of him.

Fink looks at her funny, but his face always looks funny, so Brittany 3 just leaves again. Brittany and Brittany 2 sneak over to his chair and start eating the sandwich he's left unattended by the TV. "Hey, you can't do that!" he yells; Brittany 2 ducks under the couch, out of sight, and Brittany scurries out of the room.

"Come back here!" he says, bent at the waist to swipe helplessly at her, but it's almost too easy to keep ahead of him. Brittany giggles—Fink really is a dumb butt, to take the bait like this—and she runs out the door onto the driveway. He follows her around the cars and shrieks when she throws a basketball at his mom's minivan.

"Stop that!" he instructs, but Brittany's already climbing through the window LT 3 and Brittany 6 are holding open. They watch him congratulate himself on his authoritative voice while Brittany 7 locks the front door, and their snickers turn into howled laughter at the way his face falls when the handle won't turn.

Fink's getting angry, now, with the basketball held between his ankles and both hands trying to force the door. "This isn't funny, Brittany!" he bellows, rattling the door in its frame.

The plan's going awesome, but this phase is complete. Brittany and LT usher their copies upstairs and let the Duplicator suck them back in, offering high-fives and congratulatory handshakes as each duplicate packs sullenly into the machine.

Then, Brittany and LT scamper back down to the kitchen. Fink's not rattling the door anymore; they see him struggling to open the locked window to the living room. They share a grin—even if he succeeds, he'll set off the burglar alarm Brittany's parents set before they left, and that'll get him into even bigger trouble—and find Fink's bag again.

"Ooh, lookit," Brittany announces, holding Fink's cell phone triumphantly above her head. They're out of his sightline, and LT coos happily behind her while she works to figure out his passcode.

It's F-I-N-N. Too easy.

"What should we do? Prank call an infomercial?" asks Brittany.

LT shakes his head and leans around her. "Look for ICE contacts," he says.

She does, and they hit the jackpot: Apparently, Fink's girlfriend is real, and her name is "ICE Quinn Fabrey" in his phone.

It only rings a few times before Fink's girlfriend picks up. "What is it, Finn?" Quinn asks.

Brittany and LT make their spinach grimace at each other. Brittany says, "Is this Quinn?"

"What? Yes," Quinn says, sounding confused. "Who's this? Where's Finn?"

"He's otherwise engaged," LT snickers.

Brittany giggles with him and says, "Yeah, we wanted to take this opportunity to warn you—"

"Warn me about what?" asks Quinn, growing annoyed.

"—that he's a big buttface, and he's keeping me trapped in my room," Brittany says right when she hears a back window creak open and Finn's stupid heavy body falling onto the floor.

He yells her name, through the house, and Brittany speeds up: "—and he's a giant jerk zorg monster person and he's mean to me and—"

Fink scoops her up and wrestles his phone from her fingers. Brittany starts screaming and LT plugs his ears. "Hello?" Fink says into his phone. He grimaces as Brittany struggles in his arms, but his face goes pale at Quinn's answer. "No, I'm just—I'm babysitting, like I told you," he explains.

He drags Brittany up the stairs with one arm while he listens to Quinn. "For the Pierces. Like I always do. She said—what?" He glares at her, just before they reach her room. Brittany glares ferociously and bites down on his arm.

"Ow! Cut it out, you little brat!" he shouts, shooing her into her room and shutting the door.

When her parents get home, she gets grounded for another three weeks, but LT gives her a high-five and it was super duper funny, so whatever.

* * *

It's Friday afternoon, and all kinds of gorgeous outside, but Mr. Schuester's insistent she consider the problem set in front of her.

Blitz Phoenix leans back and props her feet on the desk, puffing cigar smoke into her dim office in the general direction of Schuester's face. She'd hoped for a light day—Fridays are usually when you get into trouble; it's Monday before you start trying to get  _out_ of trouble—but clearly, Schuester's got other plans for her.

She's done favors for him before, because even if he's a daisy with greasy hair, he means well and pays even better. In this town, it's tough to be a Private Investigator. The guys are all squeaky clean and the broads are tight-lipped. Mostly, they don't take kindly to types like Phoenix sniffing around their business, but she's never been inclined to shy away from rougher cases. That's why Schuester owes her so many favors.

He's about to owe her another one because his problem is even more suspicious than usual. These two kids, Jack and Jill, are building a fence to plant a garden, but they've only got so much fence. He wants Phoenix to help these saps make a garden with the most possible area.

Of course, that's not the real question, here. Schuester's dizzy with a dame named Pillsbury, and she's got family connections to the mob and at least three cousins in the big house. This "garden" is clearly some poor cat's shallow grave. But whose? And why do they need her help? They shouldn't want her anywhere near this mess.

Still, is Schuester the victim, the villain, or the hero? Phoenix needs some more information; casually, once Schuester's left her alone to work the case, she makes her way over to Santana Lopez. The Lopez dame is an odd one, to be sure, but she's been a little sweet on Phoenix since she moved into town, and there's no better source than a canary willing to sing.

"What are you doing?" Lopez hisses. She's in a mood, so Phoenix just chews her cigar and cranes her neck back over Lopez's shoulder. It doesn't work, though; Lopez just shoves her and whispers, "Do your own work!"

Worth a shot. Phoenix decides a walk might clear her head. She's got a hunch halfway cooking when Schuester interrupts her on her second lap. "Come finish your worksheet, Brittany!" he sighs, obviously anxious for answers so he can go help his moll.

Just as she slinks back into her seat, the answer hits Phoenix like an Amtrak rattler. She draws a star on the page, so Schuester and his tomato can bury five stiffs for the price of one.

One fence, that is.

Phoenix turns her paper in early with a proud grin.

* * *

Santana lives on her street, so today, she catches up with Brittany after school. "Do you wanna walk with me?" she asks, after five full seconds of shyly toeing the sidewalk.

Honestly, Brittany'd rather walk on her own so she could try climbing on the rocks again, but walking separately in the same direction would be really weird. "Yeah, okay."

It makes Santana all happy—she grins widely and skips more than walks for the first few steps—and pretty soon, Santana's telling Brittany about her older  _primos_ in New York and how she gets to visit them with her  _abuela_ this summer. Brittany's not totally sure what primos or abuelas are, but Santana's voice sounds too nice for Brittany to interrupt.

Then, she sees it. A little way down, in the ravine beside the road, there's a little ball of fluff. Brittany makes a noise and jumps down toward it; she mostly wants to see what it is, but it might be an animal, and animals are awesome, too.

"What is it?" calls Santana, following her hesitantly. Brittany's frozen, though, above the little yellow duckling, fluttering its wings with every belabored breath. "Oh my God!" says Santana when she comes up beside Brittany.

"He's alive," Brittany whispers, "but he looks like he's hurt."

That makes Santana turn toward her, but she doesn't say anything else. "I'll—I'll get my mom," Santana suggests suddenly. "She's a doctor. Maybe she can help!"

Before Brittany can tell her that there are special doctors for animals, and maybe even specialer ones for ducks, Santana's sprinting down the street.

It's only a couple of minutes before Santana comes back, leading her mom and carrying a shoebox, but Brittany's already crying by the time they come up beside her. "Hi, Brittany," says Santana's mother, super gently.

"Hi," Brittany croaks, looking up from where she's sitting in the leaves next to the duckling she's named Marty. "Can you help him?"

Santana's mom doesn't hesitate: She takes the box from Santana and kneels next to the duck. "Well, I'm a people doctor, not an animal doctor," she says as if Brittany doesn't know about veterinarians, "but I'll do what I can."

It's clear she means it, because she's wrapping the duckling tenderly in a dishtowel before Brittany can say anything back. Santana holds the box so her mom can put the duckling inside, and Brittany notices that Santana's crying as hard as she is.

"I hope he'll be okay," Brittany barely whispers while they walk home behind Santana's mom. She feels terrible.

Santana looks just as wide-eyed and scared. "Me too," she admits, super quiet.

Brittany turns to watch the back of Santana's mom's head, bobbing as she walks. Her black hair looks a lot like Santana's.

A tingle at her wrist draws her eyes back downward: Santana's fingertips, ghosting tentatively across her wrist and down her palm.

Brittany shifts and locks their hands tight together, so tight she can feel the lifeline across Santana's palm pressing against hers, like two strands of one thread.

* * *

There's not a lot they can do, Santana's mom explains to them, and she just puts Marty in the garage with something to eat and a little bowl of water. She offers to let Brittany stay for dinner, and when Brittany says that'd be nice, Santana's mom goes inside to call Brittany's mom.

Brittany and Santana sit on the steps inside the garage, still holding hands, so tight Brittany's knuckles are shaking a little and she's not sure she'll be able to move her hand into another position ever again.

That doesn't matter, though, when she watches Marty's scary, shaky breaths, and the only things she wants in this world are for Marty to be okay and for Santana to keep holding her hand until then.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Santana whispers, after forever.

Brittany lifts her shoulders up and down. She knows animals don't always get better, and she guesses maybe people don't either, but she's never had to think about it before, and it makes her brain hurt a lot.

Just when she realizes she's crying again, Santana's head tips over onto her shoulder. Santana nestles there and Brittany takes a deep, deep breath, as if she can compensate for Marty.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" asks Santana in a small voice, because Santana's mom said that if Marty made it through the night, they could try to find a vet and maybe he'd be okay.

Brittany nods. Her chin rubs against Santana's hair.

Finally, after another forever, Brittany mumbles, "Please don't die, Marty."

Santana sniffles against Brittany's shoulder. "We'll miss you if you go."

Their words hang in the air. They keep cuddled on the stair until Santana's mom collects them for dinner.

* * *

First thing in the morning, Brittany throws her clothes and shoes on and runs across the street, so fast her mom barely catches her in the yard. "Where are you going?" she snaps, eyes hard beneath the brim of her gardening hat.

"I wanna check on Marty," Brittany reminds her, shaking with fear and anticipation.

It takes her mom a moment to remember, but when she does, she lets go of Brittany's shirt and sighs. "Okay, honey. Just—come back after, okay? Don't just run off all day."

Brittany nods, barely listening, and runs to Santana's house untethered. When she knocks on the door, though, Santana's mom looks sad and says, "I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm afraid he didn't make it."

It's too much to understand, and Brittany just stares with big eyes. Santana shows up, ducking around her mom, and grabs Brittany in the tightest hug she's ever had, except maybe the ones from her dad's brother who used to be a really strong football player.

Santana's sobbing, and that makes Brittany start crying too, hard, into Santana's shoulder.

* * *

They stand in Santana's yard for a while after Santana's mom leaves. Eventually, Santana grabs her hand again, while she uses her other one to wipe her nose. "I don't get it," mumbles Brittany miserably. "Why'd he have to die?"

There's another moment of quiet and Santana hiccups. "My—my mom says it's… it's like a life cycle. Like  _The_   _Lion King_."

"There's no ducks in  _The Lion King_ ," Brittany sniffles. "Just  _The Ugly Duckling_." She pauses. "And  _Lilo & Stitch_."

Santana's quiet for a bit. "I dunno. She said, like, death and birth are both important for life to happen. But we don't really know anything more than that."

Brittany soaks that in and grips Santana's hand tighter. "Why not?" Santana looks confused, so she clarifies, "Why don't we know more?"

Santana looks down at the little grave and shrugs sadly. "Beats me," she admits.

They stare a while longer. A breeze shifts the leaves on the lawn.

"I guess that makes sense," Brittany mumbles.

Santana's hand flexes against hers. "Just—you can't die, okay?" Brittany looks up in surprise and Santana's crying again. "Don't go anywhere. 'Cause Snix wants you to come have tea with us tomorrow."

Brittany smiles just a little because Santana's unicorn is super dopey. "Can LT come?" she asks shyly.

A smile. "Yeah, okay," whispers Santana.

Brittany ducks her head and giggles. "Just let me ask my mom."

Santana grins at her, earnest and happy, finally. "Yeah, of course."

Their sweat slicks their palms together. Brittany squeezes their lifelines against each other and feels her breath catch. "Don't you leave me either, okay?"

Santana gulps and looks deep at her eyes. "Yeah," she whispers. "Of course."

"You promise?" asks Brittany.

Santana holds up her free hand, pinky outstretched. "You too. Pinky promise."

Brittany nods and reaches her free hand to meet Santana's. Their fingers link together and Brittany leans in, impulsively, to kiss their knocking knuckles.

"Pinky promise."

"Forever."

"Yeah."


End file.
